ValentineDavis21
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Crowe's life is forever changed when an angel delivers him an impossible task. During his travels through the Kenoma, Crowe encounters a lycan, an eight-foot-tall wolfman. Separated by language and culture, Crowe cannot deny he shares a powerful connection with the barbarian. Bound by mystical forces, their journey leads them to the small village of Timberford, a town that is gripped by a dark evil. Thus, Crowe must complete his first task. If he is to survive his first task and free the town from its dark curse, Crowe must face his own dark past and trust his new furry companion. But how can you trust someone you can't understand?
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If you need something to scratch the Hubris itch I recommend The Theocracy, which I plan on revamping at some point. I am still working on Hubris but will only be posting once a week as I have been working on moving and the chapters are getting longer to write because of the length. Similar mythology, different characters with Theocracy.
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This is an old one and not my best work. This is basically Underworld fanfic. I really wanted to write about a bad ass eunuch and was inspired by Hedwig and the Angry Inch a bit. One day I would like to revisit this character.
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Van’s apartment opened itself up to Bazzelthorpe as if it’d been waiting. Upon weekstepping over the threshold, he raised his head towards the ceiling and breathed in deep. Already Van's smell was familiar to him, distinct from the rest of the world. Bazzelthorpe could sense his presence like the trailing scent of a special cologne, vital and pulsing with life. He'd been here not that long ago. The Astorathian had come here in the hopes he would find a clue. It was a desperate, foolish thing to
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Bazzelthorpe woke up to find a familiar face sitting next to his bed; it wasn’t the face he wanted. The captain looked down at him with a face that was cold and bloodless. The slash of dark red lipstick across her mouth was meant to make her look more friendly and less of a monster, but Bazzelthorpe knew she was only here for one reason and it wasn’t for him. “Where is he?” she demanded imperiously. Bazzelthorpe blinked. He felt foggy. He felt light. He felt heavy. He felt all thr
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At first nothing moved in the murky shadow. Nothing at all. It was as if he was the last man in the world. He stood in the dark with his heart pounding in his chest, every muscle so tight he could hardly breathe. His vision had squeezed down to a single tunnel. Something moved in the dark. A human figure darting across his field of vision like a bunny. A hysterical peal of laughter that depicted only madness. The figure stopped and turned to look back at him. The exaggerated features of a
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Heidi Anderson’s parents stayed in a cabin ten miles outside the city during the summer months. Vanus could see why she picked it. It was close enough to the city she could drive there if need be and secluded enough she could hide. Out here in the boonies (was ten miles outside the city considered the boonies?) the eyes could play tricks on the mind. But it was also quiet. So quiet you could hear a twig snap. No matter where she and her daughter went, he knew it would not be far enough to get a
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In the hospital recovering.
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The part of Anderson that could still dream, dreamed of a white, gilded wedding. In it he wore an expensive tuxedo, his hair was combed back and he wore cologne. In this dream he could not hear Chagidiel's voice in his head. Heidi was there too. He recognized her by the color of her hair and the smell of her perfume, but her face was a mottled blur of flesh. When he leaned forward to kiss her she had no mouth. He woke up tasting the salt of his own tears on his lips. He rested on an o
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Van's injuries were bad, Bazzelthorpe's were worse. While the death magician had been getting his face pounded by Anderson and Leonidas, Dougherty, Bazzelthorpe, and his team had been left alone to deal with the nepharites. Bazzelthorpe walked away from the battle with several stab wounds to the torso, back, and shoulders. Both had been bandaged. He would live; the Astorathian people had always been more tough than the people on the surface ever gave them credit for. He would be in t
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Wherever death goes, you follow. Vanus and Bazzelthorpe followed Dougherty and his team down the path of death. The inside of the lobby was dark with only the blinding white-flash of the emergency lights lit their way. With each strobe of light new details revealed themselves: splatters of blood on the wall and floor, a dead corpse sitting upright in a wheelchair. Judging from the smell and the darkness of the blood, the massacre had happened only minutes ago. And of course we're too l
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Even while bruised and red-eyed from lack of sleep, Kaufman still looked good in a suit. Regal and poised with his hair combed back. Two dozen faces watched him from around the room. Most of them were silent. Attentive. Maybe more than a little nervous. Not everyone was being quiet. Not everyone was paying attention. Bazzelthorpe had to grind his teeth together to keep from glaring over his shoulder at the two idiots behind him. The bosswoman stood in the corner of the room, seemingly unawa
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In the back of his mind Vanus knew the stairs he found himself climbing down were not the same stairs he'd used to descend into Inferno. It didn't stop his blood pressure from peaking or his chest from drawing tight. So he took them one step at a time, forcing himself to breathe, taking comfort in the fact he wasn't alone. Bazzelthorpe and Vanus turned the corner into a large square room that had been set up like a lounge. The walls glowed with an ambient red light. A woman stood on a
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"Lionel," the man in his dreams called him. "Lionel…the time for us to speak has come." Vanus tried to speak but he couldn't because his mouth was made of smoke. They say at a round table in the middle of the Void: a table that floated in the middle of oblivion with nothing solid beneath its legs to keep it standing; but the mundane rules of physics did not apply to the endless dark. Just as much as it was a place of nothing, anything and everything was possible. The man smiled
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It's not generational necessarily. Little Annie doesn't really have much to do with the story at this point (and is not meant to).
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White coats circuited the Anderson house beneath a sky that was as black and moonless as the Void. The excited barking of dogs and shouts of the search team combing the woods sounded from the woods. The flash of the strobe lights atop the Roc City Police cruisers splashed everything in neon red and blue. For Bazzel looking into them was like having hot needles shoved into his eyes, but he didn't want to leave Kaufman. Not even for a second. The death magician faced the woods, his expressio
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No monsters dwelled in the tunnel, only fetid darkness, and cobwebs, and the feeling that everything was closing in on them. Vanus would have taken the monsters over the fear of being trapped in a place where he would never see the light of day again. Bazzel had insisted on taking point and now led the way with his weapon out. He walked stolidly, his shoulders set in determination, but Vanus had worked with him long enough to recognize the airs he was trying to put on: his tail remained cu
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Basically, it's subterfuge: deceit used in order to achieve one's goal.
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Yes, remember the conversation Vanus had with Bazzelthorpe at the ice cream shop, when he said how manipulative the forces of Inferno can be? Well there you go. It's someone else using Chokmah's lighter to create trouble. You will find out who in Chapter 31.
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Yes, remember the conversation Vanus had with Bazzelthorpe at the ice cream shop, when he said how manipulative the forces of Inferno can be? Well there you go. It's someone else using Chokmah's lighter to create trouble? You will find out who in Chapter 31.
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The moment Vanus saw Brad and Heidi Anderson's house, his insides went cold. His reaction to the air around the house affected the air inside the truck. Bazzelthorpe, normally the one to crack the window in Mid-November, look over at him with concern. "Please, dear sweet Mother," Vanus muttered under his breath. "Not today." "Kaufman?" "Do you see this?" The death magician tapped a fingernail against the window, indicating the two story house at the edge of the cul-
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Bazzelthorpe was in the middle of pouring his third cup of coffee for the morning when a scream made his spine straighten up so hard that coffee spilled over the edge of the cup; this started a chain reaction of events that led only to imminent disaster. Almost at the same moment he turned to face the direction of where the sound was coming from, the scalding hot liquid burned the Astorathian’s flesh. The cup tumbled from his hand, before spreading out in a black puddle that went in all directio
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Bazzel's head felt like a revolving door. Or maybe it was more like those wheels from the game shows that humans went crazy over. The one where they leapt about and smothered each other with kisses and hugs when the lights went off. Only instead of multiple options there was only one prize to go home with: Vanus. Vanus. And Vanus. Each and every second with the death magician brought a sense of new discovery. A sense of insight that made Bazzelthorpe breathless with a maddening anticip
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Carlos was standing outside his door when Vanus arrived. “We need to talk, Van,” he said with that pinched, hard-eyed look that said he would not be denied. “Carlos, now is really not the time. I’ve had a shit week…” “I don’t care how shitty your week has been. The last couple of years have been pretty shitty. Full of mixed messages and secrets. Well today I want answers and I won’t leave until I get them.” “Fine,” the death magician grumbled. He nudged past Carlos to get to the d
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What's happening? Vanus thought. This isn't happening. This shouldn't be happening. But it was happening and he didn't want it to stop. Or at least his body didn't. Bazzelthorpe's vibrated and purred around him like the engine of the sweetest ride. His lips covered Van's completely, warm and soft and very full. One hand could wrap completely around Van's skull if that's what he wanted to do, but instead the callused, scar-bitten tips of his fingers slid through the death magician's sho
